


Sewer Rat

by Ellen Smithee (ellensmithee)



Series: The Egg-beater [2]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Dubious Consent, Humor, M/M, Pervertibles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-20 04:15:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/882833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellensmithee/pseuds/Ellen%20Smithee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mulder runs into Krycek in an alleyway. And there's an egg-beater.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sewer Rat

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a sequel to [The Dream](http://archiveofourown.org/works/882793) for the Egg-beater Challenge of the MKRA mailing list in 1996-97. My first smut ever, and it's pretty wretched.

Mulder grimaced in his hideout between the dumpsters. Despite the pieces of heavy cardboard he had placed overhead to ward off the driving rain, he could feel it seeping through the cardboard onto the back of his neck, like the icy fingers of a disembodied hand. He tried to remember why he was here, why he was crouched down between two dumpsters in the middle of the worst storm in a decade watching a deserted old townhouse in an even older part of town. He had received the anonymous tip like he had received so many others: an envelope stuffed under his door, the messenger long gone by the time he had thrown it open and burst into the empty hallway. In the envelope was an address and an old newspaper clipping, telling a confused tale of floating lights, loud rappings, and mysterious apparitions. Scully had laughed herself silly when he showed her the clipping, and no amount of bribery had been able to induce her to come with him to keep surveillance. Now he was here, wet and cold, and alone with his own overactive imagination.

The door of the house suddenly opened, jarring Mulder from his reverie. A white figure slipped through the door and slunk into the shadows cast by the house. Mulder jumped to his feet, forgetting the cardboard shelter over his head, which came crashing to the ground along with the heavy rocks he had placed upon it to weight it down. The distant figure started and hurried into a nearby alleyway. Mulder swore, drew his weapon and his flashlight, and followed.

When he reached the alleyway, he stopped in surprise. The figure was gone! Not only that, the alleyway was a dead end. A small corridor of brick walls on three sides, no doors, no windows. Mulder shone his high-powered flashlight on the walls, but could detect no openings in which someone could conceal himself or even irregularities that would indicate a hidden door. He took a step backwards, then jumped in surprise, startled by a dull, hollow, metallic thud underfoot. A manhole cover! Mulder laughed quietly. "Gotcha, Casper."

Mulder dug his fingers under the edge of the manhole cover and pried it up. It was heavy, but lifted easily. He cast the ray of the flashlight down into the sewer. The powerful beam penetrated the darkness below only reluctantly, revealing nothing out of the ordinary, at least, nothing nasty. Then he groped for the rungs of the ladder with the toe of his shoe and descended into the hole.

The sewer seemed to have been unused for years. The floor and walls were dry despite the faint, but not overpowering scent of feces and sulfurous water which permeated the tunnel. Mulder heard a scraping noise to his left and spun around, his gun drawn. Something small and furry blinked in the bright beam of his FBI-issue flashlight and scurried back into the shadows. Mulder relaxed. Nothing but a sewer rat. He put his gun back into its holster and, turning back to the ladder, placed his foot on the first rung. He then put his hand on rung above his head, poised to pull himself up. Suddenly the fine hairs on the back of his neck rose and he froze.

There it was again, that sound! A whirring sound, that reminded him of Xenia, his earthy-crunchy girlfriend, Phoebe's successor at Oxford. True, she had been a nut-case, but at the time, she had been exactly what he had needed to forget Phoebe, her opposite in every way. Small and blonde, natural, without artifice, a fellow American, the daughter of hippie parents. She had been a fanatical green - no synthetic fabrics, no meat, and no unavoidable electrical kitchen appliances, which meant coffee hand-strained through plastic filters, mechanical can openers, mechanical egg-beaters...

Too late, Mulder identified the whirring sound. As he tried in panic to climb the ladder, a body slammed itself against his, knocking the wind out of him and pinning him to the wall. Before he could recover, his handcuffs had been taken from his belt, looped through the rung on which his hand rested, and locked around both wrists. He tried to kick out at the person pressing him to the wall, but the other quickly jumped out of the way. Mulder lost his footing on the bottom rung and howled in pain as his entire weight jerked on his arms and wrists. Surprisingly gentle arms embraced him and lifted him back onto the bottom rung.

A chuckle sounded close to his ear and reverberated through the narrow tunnel. "Mulder, relax... Look at this as being a dream come true."

"Krycek," Mulder hissed, through clenched teeth. "Let me go."

Krycek said nothing. Instead he began to rub the egg-beater over the entire length of Mulder's cleft, turning the crank. Mulder moaned and moved his hips to escape the soft, irritating titillation, which excited him in spite of himself. The egg-beater moved with him, however, and he found himself in an even more perilous predicament than before, as his swelling erection now rubbed furiously against the wall. Suddenly the egg-beater was removed. Mulder sobbed in frustration and started to rub himself more vigorously against the hard metal of the ladder to gain his release.

"Hey, Mulder, take it easy! We're not finished."

Mulder stiffened as he felt Krycek's hands at his waist. Krycek tugged Mulder's shirt from his waistband and slipped his hands underneath to lay them on Mulder's stomach. Mulder yelped and tried to move away, but he was trapped between Krycek's chest and his hands, which were cold and clammy and soaking wet. As Krycek kneaded his stomach, Mulder moaned and started to relax. Krycek's hands moved slowly south, and he began to unbuckle and remove Mulder's belt, then unbutton and unzip his trousers. Krycek pulled them slowly down, running his thumbs over Mulder's thighs, tickling him in the hollow of his knees, and digging his nails lightly into Mulder's calves. 

When the pants were bunched around his ankles, Mulder stepped out of them without being prompted, all thought of resistance banished. Then Krycek's hands were at his waist again, this time gently extricating Mulder's erection from the slit in his briefs before removing them. He wrapped a warm hand firmly around Mulder's stiff member and began to rub it up and down relentlessly, from the crown to the root, massaging Mulder's hole with first one, then two fingers, while Mulder's ears rang from the double stimulation. Just as he thought he could no longer hold back, Krycek released his cock and removed his fingers from Mulder's anus. Then he pulled himself up onto the last rung so that his hardened shaft was rubbing against Mulder's cleft, his sopping wet hair tickling the back of Mulder's neck. He delved his tongue into Mulder's ear, then ran it down his neck, before sinking his teeth into his neck. 

Mulder cried out in exquisite pleasure, barely noticing that Krycek had simultaneously plunged his penis, well-lubricated by pre-cum, into Mulder's ass. He wrapped one arm around Mulder's chest as a support, tweaking a hardened nipple, while his other hand resumed caressing Mulder's cock. All the while, Krycek thrust his throbbing member into Mulder's hot haven again and again, while he worked Mulder's cock in counter-rhythm. Mulder came fast and hard, the involuntary spasms of his sphincter muscles bringing Krycek off as well.

Mulder's breath came in exhausted gasps, and he blacked out. When he came to, he was sitting at the foot of the ladder, his trousers pulled up around his waist again, his hands free of the handcuffs.

"Krycek?" he called softly.

No answer, just the distant squeak of a sewer rat.


End file.
